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THE SPRINGTIME OF LOVE 
AND OTHER POEMS 



BY 
ALBERT EDMUND TROMBLY 




BOSTON 

SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY 

1914 



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Copyright, 1914 
Sherman, French 6r» Company 



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g)CI,A379073 



TO 
HER WHO INSPIRED WHAT 
OF POETRY THIS LITTLE 
BOOK MAY CONTAIN 



CONTENTS 

PROLOGUE 
To A Supposed Critic 



THE SPRINGTIME OF LOVE 















PAGI 


I. 


The Desire 1 


IL 


The Return . 










2 


III. 


Worldly Sight . 










S 


IV. 


Ablution . 










4 


V. 


Love's Reward . 










5 


VI. 


Love's Aspiration 










6 


VII. 


Vision Restored . 










7 


VIII. 


Thou and I . 










8 


IX. 


The Guardian Angel 








9 


X. 


Love's Contemplation 








10 


XI. 


The Sparrow's Song 








11 


XII. 


The Carved Initials 








12 


XIII. 


Love's Maturing 








13 


XIV. 


The Wager . 








14 


XV. 


The Wished-for Song 








15 


XVI. 


Love's Character . 








16 


XVII. 


Love's Ambition . 








17 


XVIII. 


Ideal Love . 








18 


XIX. 


Love's Previous State 








19 


XX. 


The Dream . 










. 20 



INTERLUDE 

As Wakens on the Morn 23 

The Voiceless Cry 24< 

Blowing from out the Twilight Sky . . 26 

A Song of Sweets 27 

I HAVE Seen the Maiden Morn .... 28 

Where Violets are Springing .... 29 



SONNETS 

PAGE 

O Worthy to be Sung 83 

When Hesper Beams ....... 84 

The Eloquence of Silence 85 

Love's Star 86 

The Memory 37 

Love's Immortality 38 

The Vanity of Song 39 

Love's Answer 40 

Love's Intoxication 41 

Her Beauty 42 

The Nosegay 43 

Love's Worship 44 



TWO ODES 

Ode to the Passing Summer 47 

Progress 49 



SONNETS ON VARIOUS THEMES 

To B. P 53 

To Byron 54 

Shelley 57 

Keats 58 

Robert Browning 59 

Preexistence 62 

The Passing of the Winter 63 

To Death 64 

Youth and Spring 65 

Saint Helena 66 

The Plain of Waterloo 67 

To L. A. T 68 

To Bliss Perry 69 



TRIOLETS 

PAGE 

A Triad of Triolets 73 

In a Little Green Boat 76 

The Reason 77 

O Love, were I a Sprite 78 

The Barter 79 

The Chick-a-dee 80 

Good-morrow 81 

Good-night 82 

To A Chick-a-dee 83 

Five Years Old 84 

The Greeting 85 

Ave Carnevale! 86 

Addio Al Carnevale 87 



RONDEAUX 

My Spirit Saith 91 

My Bestest Boy 92 

O Nevermore 93 

Come, Love, Come 94 



TRIFLES 

By Night 97 

Lines 98 

Nero's Dying Words 99 

A Poet's Constancy 100 

Three Limericks 101 

TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE 

ASTERIE 107 

To Postumus 109 



TRANSLATIONS FROM LORENZO DE' 
MEDICI 

PAGE 

I. Vanity OP Vanities 113 

II. Hail Venus 114 

III. First Sight op his Lady . . .115 

IV. Bacchus and Ariadne . . . .116 

CHORUS FROM POLIZIANO'S " ORFEO " 
The Bacchanals 121 

EPILOGUE 
Love 



PROLOGUE 



TO A SUPPOSED CRITIC 

Of what avail to waste thy days 
In all this idle tittle-tattle? 
Of woman's love to dote and prattle, 
And in thy rhyme to sing her praise 
And laud her in a thousand ways? 

Attune thy song to nobler lays, 
And sterner, deeper music raise; 
With songs of love in life to battle. 
Of what avail? 

I thank thee, friend, for thy essays 
To keep me from a danger fatal; 
But while his quiver Love doth rattle, 
Shoots his arrow, goads, and flays. 
Thine apologues and scornful gaze, 
Of what avail? 



THE SPRINGTIME OF LOVE 



THE DESIRE 

Methinks that Nature mourns to hear me sigh, 
For as the brooklet winds and trips along, 
Now languishing and now with current strong. 
It murmurs dolefully ; in boscage nigh 
The soughing wind a plaining melody 

Is breathing mid the boughs ; the phoebe's 

song — 
Whose burthen tells the deep, the wasting 
wrong 
Of loneliness — arises to the sky. 
And I more deeply grieve and yearn for thee: 
To see thee smile ; to hear thy mellow voice ; 
To feel, ah me, thy lush lip pressed to mine ; 
To live a moment in the ecstasy 

Of love's most fair delight, and so rejoice 
To quench, to lose my glowing soul in thine ! 



[1] 



II 

THE RETURN 

As one grown languid with the garish day, 
Whose jaded spirit — cloyed with care's ex- 
cess, 
With what of life doth human hearts op- 
press — 
Turns him at length from worldliness awa^^. 
And kneeling at his temple shrine to pray, 
Eagerly tells his inmost thankfulness 
At finding peace that wounded bosoms bless, 
And tranquil joy, his sorrow to allay; 
So I, aweary of the world — of men 

And all their gods, of strife for vaunted 
Fame: 
Her tinselled crown, her fair elusive goal — 
Forsake all else, return to thee again ; 

And in thy smile, thy voice, thy very name, 
I breathe afresh, O Priestess of my soul! 



[2] 



Ill 

WORLDLY SIGHT 

Rarely an eye can gaze beyond its sphere; 
The maiden pure of heart can nothing see 
But fair and virtuous deeds ; the votary 

Of luring wealth no image can uprear 

Than one of hoarded gold; the simple fear 
Of death has taught the anchorite to be 
An inmate of the shrine, nor fancies he 

That other gods than his to men appear. 

And they who hear the hymning of my lyre 
Attuned to sing of thee — thy perfect heart, 
Thy charm ineffable, thy spirit brave — 

Will think my love akin to their desire; 

Their sordid thought to songs of mine impart ; 
Believe that since I love, I dream and 
rave ! 



[3] 



IV 
ABLUTION 

Yet must I shrive this craven soul of mine 
Of all its earthly lust, — the mad desire 
Which Nature as a deep volcanic fire 

Hath fused within my being, as in wine 

Is mingled with the juices of the vine 
The ferment's latent heat, — ere I attire 
Myself in fortitude and from the mire 

Of worldiness my spirit draw to thine. 

Then as the worshipper, with bosom free 
Of human taint, who kneels in tearful prayer 
And to his God doth immolate his whole, 

I, too, shall bow me down ; and may it be 
That, when escaped from this unworthy lair, 
Thou deign accept my pure, my shriven 
soul! 



[4] 



LOVE'S REWARD 

Even as others have, so have I sighed : 

Sighed for the world's applause; for glory, 

fame; 
For bay-leaved chaplets that surround the 
name 
Of him whom Fortune fawns. And I have vied 
To gain her hollow smile, but she denied 

To make me of her troop, for when her flame 
Was kindled in my breast, she quenched the 
same 
And taught me all her purple pomp deride. 
Yet have I known a glory sweeter far 

Than aught of Fortune borne, for when I 
sung 
Mine artless lay to thee, and saw thine eye 
Glow with a ravished warmth, as glows the star 
Of vespertide, I felt around me flung 

The fairest wreath for which the heart may 
sigh. 



[6] 



VI 

LOVE'S ASPIRATION 

Let me but strive as they who contemplate 
A worthy-seeming end: but let my goal 
Be wrought of finer ware than gemmy bowl, 
Or leafy coronal, or kingly state; 
And may I feel a warm, an earnest hate 

Of what attaints the heart and moils the 

soul, 
And in my spirit hear the clarion roll 
That calls : " Strive on ! afore the hour is 

late." 
For though the world may offer guerdons fair 
To them who covet wealth or who desire 
The plaudits of the throng, I cannot see, 
Amid her gaudiness, a gift so rare 

As doth await my soul when, mounting higher, 
'Tis crowned at last as worthy. Love, of 
thee. 



[6] 



VII 
VISION RESTORED 

I CAME, O lovely Virgin, to thy bower. 
What time the primrose and anemone 
Enfold their fragrant petals, and the bee 

Murm'rously wings it from the closing flower; 

The violet shadows of the evening lower, 
And from the brake beside the grassy lea 
The linnet in a clear, far-echoing key 

Sings with melodious note of twilight's hour. 

I came to thee, my Love, but nothing knew 
Of Nature's galaxy ; for who can know. 
Laden at heart, the beauty of the Spring? 

Yet when thy gentle kiss, as evening dew. 
Freshened my thirsting lips, I saw the glow 
Of Hesperus and heard the linnet sing. 



£7] 



VIII 
THOU AND I 

Zephyrous winds were breathing fitfully 
Amid the verdure of the leafy spring, 
And each soft, balmy gust appeared to bring 

A dryad's amorous sigh or lover's plea. 

Beside the cove and from a blighted tree 
Darted athwart the pool a fisher-king; 
And as the ripples broke beneath his wing, 

Forgetful of his cares, he sported free. 

There lying in a ferny nook, — my bed 

Of downy moss, my pillow thy fair breast, — 
I, too, rejoiced; my soul was in mine eye; 

And golden dreams my heart and fancy fed ; 
And till the day had sunk beneath the west 
The world, the universe, was — thou and I. 



[8] 



IX 

THE GUARDIAN ANGEL 

Ah, well do I remember, when a child, 
— Ere sallow melancholy had besprent 
My tender years with sadness, or had blent 
Her dulling potion with the spirits wild 
That feed my breast — of moments oft be- 
guiled 
With listening in large-eyed wonderment 
As elders whispered of an angel sent 
From heaven to keep my bosom undefiled. 
Years grew upon me; sceptic I became. 

And often scorned the pretty childhood tale 
Which once enchanted me; but when thy 
love 
Awakened in my heart a kindred flame 

And taught me, Sweet, thy god-like spirit 
hail, 
I knew thee as the guide they'd spoken of. 



[9] 



LOVE'S CONTEMPLATION 

Beloved, hast thou seen the trellised vine 
When Autumn's sun had kissed to mellowness 
The clustered fruit, and in their purple dress 
The grapes seemed bursting with a wealth of 

wine ? 
Or seen at early morn the columbine 

Bowed with its nectar, which the wood-nymphs 

press 
To their fair lips as 'neath the leafiness 
Of oaken groves to their delights recline? 
Still hath my heart of love a deeper fount 
Than fruit of wine or bloom of honey-dew; 
And I have wondered oft how it could be 
That human clay such lofty heights could mount 
And love with such a love, — but, ah, 'tis true 
I then forgot my love was borne to thee. 



[10] 



XI 

THE SPARROW'S SONG 

Envious clouds were flitting in the sky 

As frowning on the simple joy that swayed 
Two kindred souls, but nathless in a glade, 
'Neath piney boughs, upon a hilltop high, 
We happy lay amid a luxury 

Of loving warmth; and soon the heavens 

made 
Accord with our delight, and overlaid 
Hommock and croft with sunset's crimson dye. 
Where alder-copse o'erhung the echoing dell, 
His roundelay the vesper-sparrow sang. 
Pouring his heart in frenzied melody; 
And when I asked : " Canst thou his meaning 
tell?" 
O Love, thy voice than his more sweetly rang : 
" He saith : ' I love my Love, my Love 
loves me.' " 



[11] 



XII 

THE CARVED INITIALS 

Thrice hath the musk-rose bloomed and past 
away, 
And thrice the lark, with each return of 

Spring, 
Hath filled the woodland with his carolling. 
Then fled the frost of Autumn sear and gray. 
Since I, my Mary, here did lonely stray, 
And, as a lover will, thy praise did sing 
In carved symbols of thy name, and fling 
Around this oak a charm against decay. 
But now the bark hath overgrown the seam 
Which youthful ardor made; and standing 
here 
I gaze, and wonder if thy poet's rhyme 
Will save thy memory, and if the stream 
Of all my love a monument can rear 

To keep thy fame against the tooth of 
Time. 



[1«] 



XIII 

LOVE'S MATURING 

How like a lovely flower hast thou grown : 
The violet that opes its petalled blue 
As Dawn appears to kiss away the dew 
Which Eve o'er vale and moor hath lightly 

blown ; 
The arbutus that, when the Winter's flown 
And smiling Spring is come, blooms into view 
Mid greening nooks now fresh with grasses 
new, 
And weaves the earth a soft and fragrant zone ; 
For soon as gentle Love had come to dwell 
Within thy breast, awakening with his lay 
A deep response, thy heart so pure, so 
good. 
With loving largess seemed to overwell. 
Making thy youth a fair and flowery May, 
And bringing forth thy rip'ning woman- 
hood. 



[18] 



XIV 

THE WAGER 

One day, O happy day ! my Love and I 
A wager made; and this how it befell: 
We sate enraptured in a fairy dell 
Until the twilight glimmered in the sky; 
At length I spake : " Alas, how moments fly. 
When in thy company ! Guess thou, and tell 
The hour ; and if, perchance, thou blunder — 
well. 
Each moment costs a kiss; dost thou deny? " 
She smiled assent; nor thought to ask of me 
My pledge, but said : " The hour of chimes ; 
for list, 
I hear a murmur rising from the South." 
I showed the dial, laughed full boyishly. 

For I had won ; and then four times I kissed 
Her blushing cheek, the fifth her rosy 
mouth. 



[1*] 



XV 

THE WISHED-FOR SONG 

Could I, O could I speak a golden tongue, 
A tongue more sweet than e'er the heav'nly 

choir 
Of poets spake when love or keen desire 
From out their hearts a cadenced echo wrung, 
More sweet than that divine Apollo flung 
Upon the morn as, rousing with his fire 
The dark and sleeping world, he struck his 
lyre 
And to the spheres a song of triumph sung; 
Then would I take a softly-lisping lute 

And wander out where all the summer long 
The Zephyrs frolicked over hill and lea ; 
And as the evening fell, and all was mute 
In dale or glen, I'd breathe a perfect song ; 
And, Love, that deathless song would sing 
of thee! 



[15] 



XVI 

LOVE'S CHARACTER 

On many a scene the painter fondly dotes 
Of roses poppy-red and lilies white, 
Of glorious morns when beams of golden light 
Pour from the east on fields of mellow oats. 
Elated with the splendor which he notes, 
He turns him home, his fancy all bedight; 
And with warm tints of earths and ochres 
bright, 
The vision marks that still before him floats. 
But how record the glory I have seen 

Illume thy laughing eye, that mirrors clear 
A heart which flows with love at every beat.'' 
A single word is all that I can glean 

From out my store to paint thy nature, Dear, 
And that one word, O dare I tell, is — 
sweet! 



[16] 



xvn 

LOVE'S AMBITION 

Not mine the lot to have a mountain-fay 
Grant me whate'er my eager heart desires, 
As was the fate of our fabled sires 
When Dian led the chase, and Ares' sway 
Was over martial strife ; but if to-day 

I might command the quest my bosom fires, 
'Twould not be that for which the worldling 
hires 
Or gives his life, his very soul away. 
Ah, no; 'twould not for earthly treasure be. 
Nor yet for what the rolling skies above 
Retain, 'tis said, within their heav'nly 
clime ; 
But I would ask that there be granted me 
A one, an only wish: to love thee. Love, 
With deep'ning love, through life, and 
death, and time! 



[17] 



xvin 

IDEAL LOVE 

NoE more, nor less than lovers do I ween 
That we should ever be ; for how be more 
Or wish for less? Methinks that Love can 
soar 
On happy wings and wear a jocund mien 
Where brooks arise and maple groves are green ; 
But when confined within the hamlet-door, 
His pinions droop; his bosom, blithe before. 
Now pines for woodland air and wide demesne. 
And may our hearts be such that he can find 
Therein a place to dwell, whose springs are 
pure 
And ever fresh, whose air is large and 
sweet ; 
Then will he flee and gladly leave behind 

The realm of meaner souls, and swear, I'm 
sure. 
His fairest haunt is where our spirits meet. 



[18] 



XIX 

LOVE'S PREVIOUS STATE 

Often I mused, when bowed in dreamy thought, 
Of where our souls abode ere human birth 
Entwined and bound them with the carnal 
girth 
That binds the soul of man, yet never caught 
A full-assuring voice, a note which taught 
What we had been — if dwellers of the earth, 
Of valley, hill, of lake or marshy firth; 
If birds, or streams, or flowers crimson- 
wrought. 
And still I think, whatever our spirits felt. 
They knew a kindred love: of lark for lark. 
Of rose for drooping rose; or it may be 
Thou wert a brook and I the spring that dwelt 
Beside thy bank and, from a cranny dark, 
I gave my love, my being unto thee. 



[19] 



XX 

THE DREAM 

Reclining yester-eve as Philomel 

Warbled her vesper-hymn, I dreamed I lay 
Within a beechen grove all green and grey, 

Where laurel grew and bloomed the asphodel, 

The arbutus, and many an oaten-bell; 

And there the Muses, daughters of the May, 
Sate weaving coronals of fragrant bay. 

While from their lips harmonious converse fell. 

And one arose, of graceful mien, and fair, — 
More fair than I can ever tell thee of, — 
Who came and placed her garland on my 
brow; 

And gazing on her beauty, I was ware 

How all my senses swooned, for, O my Love, 
I dimly saw the lovely maid was thou. 



[20] 



INTERLUDE 



AS WAKENS ON THE MORN 

SONG 



As wakens on the morn the happy throng 
Of larks that bid the wood and field rejoice, 

So in my heart, like a remembered song, 
Rises and swells the music of thy voice. 

II 

As lingers on the eve the fragrant breath 
Of roses, borne from out the flowery South, 

So in my ravished soul that knows no death 
Linger the golden kisses of thy mouth. 



t^] 



THE VOICELESS CRY 



Alas, I sobbed, in vain I sighed. 
As wakeful on my couch I lay : 
O would my Love were by my side! 

II 

Nor Memory, though oft she tried, 

Could soothe my hapless, aching heart: 
O would my Love were by my side! 

Ill 

And though my roving thought soared wide. 

Its end within my breast it found : 
O would my Love were by my side ! 

IV 

My brain could harbor naught beside 
That all-consuming, raging flame: 
O would my Love were by my side! 



The stillness of the night replied 

And seemed to mock my painful cry : 
O would my Love were by my side ! 



[24] 



VI 



At last sleep came ; the fever died ; 

And then I dreamed a dream of sighs 
O would my Love were by my side! 



[25] 



BLOWING FROM OUT THE TWILIGHT 
SKY 

SONG 



Blowing from out the twilight sky, 
O Wind of the purple West, 

Steal but a kiss, as you go by. 
From the girl whom I love best! 

II 

An only kiss, O western Wind, 
From her fresh and rosy mouth; 

Then hasten along until you find 
My lips, and quench their drouth ! 



[26] 



A SONG OF SWEETS 



Sweet in Autumn is the fruit 

That ripens on the vine, 
And sweet the lightly-fingered lute 

That sings of love and wine ! 
Sweet in Summer is the berry; 

Sweet the columbine! 
O sweet, too, is the luscious cherry; 

But sweeter far's my Mary! 

II 
Sweet the violet in the May, 

That in the woodland grows ! 
Sweet the smell of winnowing hay, 

Of lilies, and the rose ! 
Sweet is honey; sweet the merry 

Throstle's roundelay! 
sweet is fresh cream from the dairy; 

But sweeter far's my Mary! 



[37] 



I HAVE SEEN THE MAIDEN MORN 

SONG 



I HAVE seen the maiden Mom 
Tint the ears of mellow corn, 
Turn to pearls the dewy drops 
Clinging to the clover-tops, 
Fling upon the meadow stream 
Ruddy rays that flash and gleam ; 
Yet I swear such beauty's vile 
When I see my Mary smile. 

II 

I have seen the Vesper Star 
Rising in the west afar, 
Glowing like a lonely gem 
In the Twilight's diadem. 
Shedding rays of amber light 
In the path of coming Night; 
Yet I swear such beauty's vile 
When I see my Mary smile. 



[28] 



WHERE VIOLETS ARE SPRINGING 

SONG 

I 

Where violets are springing 

And crystal waters flow; 
Where meadow-larks are singing 

And scented breezes blow; 
O there with thee to wander 

My only wish would be 
That I might grow the fonder 

Through Love's eternity; 
That I might grow the fonder 

Through Love's eternity. 

II 

Where autumn leaves are falling 

O'er asters pale and sear; 
Where late the blackbird's calling 

His last call of the year; 
O there, with thee beside me, 

My silence would be prayer 
That death might deeper hide me 

Within thy spirit rare; 
That death might deeper hide me 

Within thy spirit rare. 



[29] 



SONNETS 



O WORTHY TO BE SUNG 

WORTHY to be sung, as never I 

Nor other gifted with the golden speech 

Of poets sang; O Virgin, who can teach 
My heart a softer, deeper melody, 
Than flowers can, and hills, and starry sky, 

And mossy rocks, and storm-belabored 
beach ; — 

I kneel to thee, all trembling, and beseech 
Thy gentle heart to hear thy lover's sigh. 

1 know not what life is, and little care; 
For tossed and blown upon its murky brine 

I've sighed and longed to reach its haven 

— Death. 

And what but this could ever be my prayer — 

That thou shouldst press thy lovely lips to 

mine 

And with thy kisses steal away my breath.? 



[33] 



WHEN HESPER BEAMS 

When Hesper beams above the western lea, 
And softly tolls the distant village bell, 
And Echo wakens in each purple dell. 

And naught is heard save lulling melody ; 

Then gladly doth the humble devotee 
Forsake his dull and solitary cell, 
Hears on the air serene the vesper swell, 

And in devotion sinks on pious knee. 

And I, dear Maid, as wanes the hoary year. 
And wails the wind among the frosty hills 
A melancholy song so dolefully. 

Turn from the lore of callous tomes and hear 
A voice more sweet than of the laughing rills. 
And ardent breathe my passion's prayer to 
thee. 



[34] 



THE ELOQUENCE OF SILENCE 

There is a something far more eloquent 

Than honeyed speech, than music more pro- 
found : 
'Tis that which Nature speaks when all 
around, 
Valleys and hills, the cloudless firmament. 
The grazing flocks at noon with wandering 
spent 
That lying flank a cool and grassy mound. 
The meadows that with grasshoppers abound. 
The bees and birds in stilliness are blent. 
'Twas thus I spake ; and. Love, thy spirit heard. 
Thy spirit which my very silence hears. 
And trembled to receive my love's oblation. 
My tongue would voice my soul ; 'twas vain ; no 
word 
Was on my lips, but from my heart sprang 
tears. 
Ecstatic tears of silent adoration! 



[35] 



LOVE'S STAR 

O MY Beloved, since the livid stream 
Of our life is shallow, let us strive 
To rend each servile bond and worldly gyve 

That binds the soul and makes our being seem 

Yet viler than it is. The hopes that gleam 
A moment, pain and disillusion rive; 
And all things earthly it would seem connive 

At our thinking life a more than dream. 

So buffeted along this mazy sea. 
We cannot, as the mariner, adjust 

Our compass to a point that lies afar; 

But our haven, our goal must be 
A consolation for each stifled lust, 

And love, eternal love, our polar star. 



[36] 



THE MEMORY 

As little waves that hurrying to the shore 
Kiss th' expectant beach, then fall away, 
Gather again their foamy-capped array, 
And all exultant as they did before 
Over the sand their fresh caresses pour; 

And as they shake and toss their silvery 

spray 
Their beating wakes a soft and murm'rous 
lay 
Which sea-bom shells will echo evermore. 
So played my lips with thine ; and every kiss 
But made them for the next more warmly sue. 
And now as I delight to muse upon 
Those fleeted moments and their rapturous bliss, 
I find that they my bosom did imbue 
With what defies e*en death's oblivion. 



[87] 



LOVE'S IMMORTALITY 

Remorseless Time may waste and desolate 
Thy lovely form, but it can never fret 
The garland on thy brow which Love hath 
set 
To mark thy name and prove thy honored state. 
Age steals upon us, — 'tis the mortal's fate; 
And ruthless usurer, he claims his debt: 
Fair golden locks, and locks of brown or jet 
He turns to gray; blue eyes he turns to slate. 
Yet as the rose which, having bloomed and 
blown. 
Though north winds bluster and the earth is 
bare. 
Lives in the mem'ry all the winter long; 
So will the glory. Love, which thou hast known 
Of youth and love, of beauty, O how rare. 
Forever live within my wreath of song! 



[88] 



THE VANITY OF SONG 

How many times have I essayed to sing 
Of thee, sweet Girl, but all to what avail! 
For poesy, though passion-fraught, must fail, 
Whene'er it wakes to praise so rare a thing. 
How many times have I essayed to fling 
About thy heart mine own's delirious wail! 
Yet song could not but palliate the tale. 
And make of cries and moans a whispering. 
And still I feel my songs would not be vain, 
Although I know that I can never tell 

My love for thee, nor praise thee as is 
meet. 
If I could sometimes catch a single strain 

Of thoughts that make my trembling bosom 
swell. 
My teardrops flow, my burning temples 
beat! 



[a9] 



LOVE'S ANSWER 

Last eve I heard in twilight's solitude 
The nightingale awake his amorous lay, 
Then pause and all his lone complaining stay 

As if despair his bosom had imbued. 

But soon with treble soft his chant renewed: 
So sweet the tones that from a distant bay 
His Love, in cadences as sweet as they, 

Answered her mate's melodious interlude. 

And I remembered then the lonely note 

I once had blown, which seemed the very 
knell, 
The tocsin of the love I sought from thee; 

But when I blew again, thy mellow throat. 
Sweetly and soft as lute or silver bell, 
Echoed and wafted back the song to me. 



[40] 



LOVE'S INTOXICATION 

As in the morn the hectic Bacchanals, 

Returning from the grove where through the 

night 
They made carouse beneath the torches' light, 
Approach with reeling gait the city walls, — 
Young Dionysus followed by his thralls. 

All maddened with the grape; each tipsy 

wight, 
Trying to vent his wine-begot delight, 
" Bacchus ! Bacchus ! Bacchus ! " hoarsely 

bawls : 
So I, last eve, reluctantly and slow 

Turned from the chamber, there where thou 
and I 
Revelled with Love until the belfry beat 
The parting hour, and pensive did I go. 
All drunken with thy beauty, but to cry 
A thousand times : " My Mary ! Love ! 
My Sweet!" 



[4.1] 



HER BEAUTY 

Beauty like thine is Beauty's quintessence ! 
Not Helen, whom the Trojan bought so dear, 
Such beauty knew, nor lovely Guinevere, 
Nor Egypt's queen, nor Dido, who laments 
In death her lover's flight. O no; the sense 
Was never quickened by a loveliness the peer 
.Of thine, which, lovelier grown from year to 
year, 
Marks the full tide of Beauty's opulence. 
For thine is of the passion-laden heart. 
And finds a voice in every winsome grace 
Which loves about thy comely form to play. 
And though I grieve that with my groping art 
I never can thy god-like beauty trace. 
Still I rejoice to think my spirit may. 



[42] 



THE NOSEGAY 

Weee I to make a galaxy of sweets, 

Methinks my choice would be a crescent moon, 
New-born and silv'ry; an autumnal noon, 

When all is hushed save a lamb that bleats ; 

The dying sound of some far bell that beats 
An Angelus ; the songs that mothers croon 
To lullaby their babes ; a rose in June ; 

The throstle's note ; the poesy of Keats. 

Then might I add a gurgling meadow-stream; 
The purple hills at eve ; an April shower ; 
Deep summer skies ; the droning of the bee. 

And still 'twould make my lovely nosegay seem 
A thousand times more sweet, my Passion- 
flower, 
If with the other sweets I garnered thee! 



[43] 



LOVE'S WORSHIP 

A DAB.K, late autumn mom has left its bed ; 
Chill, and as one who mourns a secret pain 
'Tis overcast, and weeps abundant rain 

Fast as the tears we lavish on the dead. 

'Tis Sabbath, Love; I hear th' occasional tread 
Of passersby abustling to the fane. 
Where one, methinks, will pray, and one com- 
plain ; 

One bow his heart, and one but bow his head. 

And musing on these men, their cults and creeds, 
I wonder if their temples can instil 
A thought that's worthy of a deity. 

But this I know, that they might lay their beads 
And psalters by, did ever once they thrill 
And tremble with the love I feel for thee! 



[44] 



TWO ODES 



ODE TO THE PASSING SUMMER 



Go, Summer, go ; 
But in thy passing, know 
There is a heart that grieves for thee, 
A tearful eye to mark thine age and death; 
Thy spirit, borne away on Autumn's breath, 
Stealeth my joy from me, 
My joy and gaiety; 
And though I would, my pipe can nothing blow 
Than mournful dirge or song of wasting woe. 

II 

Thine were the swarming bee, the fledging bird. 

The mower's song, the winnowing hay. 
The heavens' deepest blue, the brooklet heard 

Trebling along its winding way; 

And thine the dewy break of day, 
The breathless noon, the far-heard vesper bell. 

The buxom rose, the flow'ring bay. 
The chirp of grasshoppers, the note of Philomel. 

Ill 

Thine, too, the songs of love and love's delights : 
The yearning heart, th' insistent sigh. 

The passion taught to soar on noble heights. 
The mean desire left to die, 



[*T] 



The plighted troth and sacred tie, 
The laughing mirth, the pure and simple bliss, 

The days that all too fleetly fly, 
The maiden's soft caress, the lover's good-night 
kiss. 

IV 

But all is changed ; a dun and murky haze 

Darkens the evening sky; the brook 
Is silent now ; and even the cheerful bays 

Are seen to wear a saddened look; 

The nightingale the grove forsook 
To seek a brighter clime; and all alone 

I'm left, my grievous loss to brook. 
To pine for love and thee, to breathe a plaintive 
moan. 



Though thou art gone. 
My heart will dote upon 
Thy beauty long; and as the blast 
Of Autumn drives thy fallen leaves along. 
My pipe shall wail a melancholy song. 
And I shall weep for thee, 
To think that it should be 
That all thy glory, all thy lovely store. 
Should waste and pass away forevermore. 



im 



PROGRESS 



O THOU of changing seasons born, 
Goddess whom the race of man 
Hath worshiped from its early morn 
In battle, song, and lofty plan; 
Reveal me where thy banners lead. 
And that on which thy fires feed. 

II 

As childhood, with its simple heart. 
Runs to meet the heaven's verge. 
But finds the golden realm depart 
And farther the horizon surge; 
So men have vied to follow thee 
And thou their grasp didst ever flee. 

Ill 

Yet thou hast framed the human mind 
And fashioned both its tongue and eye ; 
For thee man left the cave behind 
And raised his anthem to the sky; 
Thou gavest him the wild desire 
Which taught him shape his bow and lyre ! 

IV 

But whether he is happier now 
For trusting thee, ah, who can tell? 

[49] 



To-day sees laurel on his brow; 
To-morrow hears his requiem swell. 
Thou sowest pleasure in thy train, 
But with it, what poignant pain ! 



Thy handmaid, Pleasure, taught us steal 
Delights from every smiling star; 
Thine other. Sorrow, taught us feel 
How vain the sweets of Beauty are! 
The subtler doth the spirit grow, 
The keener is the heart to woe! 

VI 

Better, perchance, if never we 

Had known the dawning of the day; 

And if a callous deity 

Had never breathed upon our clay ; 

Better have died within the womb 

Than lived to build ourselves a tomb! 

VII 

And yet. Unknowable, lead on! 
Perchance that with the fleeting years 
Thy tending Sorrow will have gone 
And drained the fount of human tears. 
And thou, perchance, in its rebirth 
Wilt show the soul a fairer earth. 



[50] 



SONNETS ON VARIOUS THEMES 



TO B. P. 

Critic, despair not yet; the feeble lays 
Of sighing youth, unskilled in lofty art, 
May rouse a nobler song; the lover's heart 
May catch the strain that sweet Catullus plays. 
Too true my faulty verse full oft betrays 
The stamp of bards who cry in every mart, 
But still methinks the Muse may yet impart 
To me the lore of minstrelsy. As days 
Flow into years, and years to decades grow, 
The selfsame tongue that harsh in childhood 
spake 
Doth now the maiden grace with mellow 
tone; 
So, too, discordant youth, though loath to 
know 
His ardor curbed, may grasp the lute and 
wake 
Some wild melodic chord, some dulcet moan. 



[53] 



TO BYRON 



As when at eve the silent heaven burns 
With golden Hesperus, and ripened grain 
Stands reaped in mellow sheaves on ev'ry 
plain, 

With buoyant heart the reaper homeward turns, 

And with glad eye his distant cot discerns, 
Quickens his gait to some low-whistled strain, 
And happy greets the welcome hearth again 

That yields the peace his daily labor earns ; 

So I, when heavy hours oppress my day 
And life appears devoid of aught but woes. 
With rapture hail the tranquil evening sky ; 

Then from all care my spirit turns away. 
Lured by thy magic voice that ever knows 
To soothe my soul with mighty melody. 



[64] 



11 

I DREAMED I roamcd among JEtolian hills, 
Mid vales but seldom trod by modem men, 
Sometime beneath cool cypress groves, and 
then 
Through laurel copse and nigh low-babbling 

rills. 
And where a throbbing fount with crystal fills 
A brooklet's bed a minstrel sate; and when 
I nearer drew, he plucked his harp again 
And breathed a song which yet my bosom thrills. 
Of lordly mien the bard ; his seer-like eye 
Waxed bright with every strain, and morn- 
ing's hue 
Swept lightly o'er his pallid cheek and wan ; 
And as he waked the deep-toned harmony. 
His eye was fixed afar ; perchance he knew 
He sang to distant men of " Don Juan." 



[66] 



Ill 

Byeon, of what avail my feeble lute 

To sing thy praise, and sing it worthily? 

But tuneless though my simple numbers be, 

My heart must sing; 'twould break to linger 

mute. 
The hour is come when glory's ripened fruit, 
Mellowed with time, of blight and canker free, 
Is thine ; and silent they who censured thee 
And vainly sought to shadow thy repute. 
Lord of poets ! None has ever sung 
So wild a note as thine, no human art 

More truly spake than thy o'erwhelming 

rhyme ; 

From out thy warring soul hath Feeling wrung 

Each swift and glowing chord, and from thy 

heart 

Hath Passion cried to every age and clime! 



[56] 



SHELLEY 

As the wild bird of which thy Orphic lay 

Enraptured sings, — the sweet and heavenly 

lark 
Who heralds dawn and, till the hour of dark, 
Woos with melodic trill the summer day, 
Poising upon a drooping oaten spray 

And spreading buoyant wing, doth then em- 
bark 
On song and flight, while lofty heavens mark 
A purer note than ever woodlands may, — 
So thou dost sing, and spellbound do I hear 
The west wind breathe among the trembling 
strings 
Of thy responsive lute, and feel thee rise 
From earth to cloud, from cloud to higher 
sphere. 
Borne on the breath of thine ecstatic wings. 
Till thou art lost amid the deepest skies. 



[57] 



KEATS 

What keen delight, within a sylvan glade 
'Neath Summer's azure dome, through dreamy 

hours 
When croons the humble-bee, and tender 
flowers 
Droop their soft heads beneath the freshening 

shade 
Of some o'erhanging leaf or rushy blade, 
Each fragrant bloom athirst for cooling 

showers — 
To hear enchanted, until ev'ning lowers. 
Thy mellow song and golden numbers played ! 
And wakened to the spirit of thy lute 
That sings of lovers' woe, of Philomel, 
Of autumn fruit, and of the Chian seer, 
Of music breathed upon the shepherd's flute, 
I feel, thus lost in song, I ne'er can tell 
If nightingales' or else thy note I hear! 



[68] 



ROBERT BROWNING 
A TRIAD OF SONNETS 



BaowNiNG, thine is a note and song unique 
Whose rugged numbers seem as they were 

sung 
By other heart than thine, another tongue 
Is ever heard thine accents boldly speak. 
Thou deem'st the lover's lute a thing too weak 
For thy prolific lay, and thou hast wrung 
Thy song from deeper tones, and found 
among 
Thy fellows' hearts the trumpet thou didst seek. 
So, too, the gale adown from murky skies, 
Impetuous, dark, and silently doth come 
Until it meet with sea and wooded turf ; 
Then with each blast a thousand notes arise. 
And loud the tempest, now no longer dumb, 
Speaks through the moaning pines and 
thund'ring surf! 



[59] 



II 

Roaming at eve among the mossy rocks 

Of rolling pasture-land, what time the shrill 
Of grasshoppers is done, and o'er the hill 
The evening star announceth to the flocks 
The hour of rest is nigh; while Echo mocks 
The plaintive note of some lone whip-poor- 
will — 
I heard the home-returning shepherds fill 
Each vale with music blown from reedy stocks. 
And listening to the happy lads awake 

With their crude pipes a deep and tender 
song, 
Methought of thee, true poet and sublime. 
Who chos't of unmelodic tones to make, 

Since it must be, thy numbers clear and 
strong 
Than curb thy spirit 'neath insipid rhyme ! 



[60] 



Ill 

Whoever seek in realms of poesy 

For aught beside soft words and pleasing 

sound, 
With which the dilettante's songs abound, 
Will turn from empty verse and look to thee. 
Amid thy pages man will hear the free, 

Deep voice of feeling, learn that he is 

crowned 
But through eternal strife, that heaven's 
found 
In Love the only path to Deity. 
Thus oftentime beside the grassy way 

Where violets rear their heads, a lonely flower 

L#ess gaudy than the rest is nigh ignored ; 

And yet to that same bloom, throughout the day. 

The bee will oft return, for 'neath the bower 

Of petals pale is golden nectar stored. 



[61] 



PREEXISTENCE 

Full oftentime in reading sweet romance, 
Romance imbued with hues of red and gold, 
That sings of ladies fair and warriors bold; 

Of joust and tournament ; of love, perchance ; 

Of laurel wreathed around the victor's lance — 
'Tis not the tale alone, though charming told 
And fashioned in the fancy's glowing mould 

And sung in flowing rhyme, mine ear enchants. 

A tuneful word, a soft, canorous phrase. 
Awakes a feeling vague of former life 
And plunges me in deepest reverie; 

Then o'er me steals the breath of ancient days : 
I hear the clash of arms, the din of strife. 
The sound of harps, the songs of min- 
strelsy ! 



[62] 



THE PASSING OF THE WINTER 

What means the thawing sod, the waxing sun, 
The eager freshet bursting from the hill, 
And from the oaken grove the squirrel's trill, 
Seeming to tell that frosty days are done? 
Think they the time of Spring hath yet begun 
Because the wind that blew so biting chill 
Hath spent its fitful wrath and ceased to 
shrill? 
Think they that Winter's race is fully run? 
He may, perchance, methinks, be potent yet ; 
And may, ere breathes the Spring's tri- 
umphant note. 
Blow yet a gale ere lapsing into death; 
As oft a man with glazed eye and set, 

When low the rattle gurgles In his throat, 
Rouses himself to gasp away his breath. 



[63] 



TO DEATH 

How often have I seen in early Fall, 

Ere the fleet swallow yet had southward flown 
And still the mountain-rill made plaintive 
moan, 
Old pallid Rime from his boreal hall 
In quiet steal across the hilly wall; 

And ere the tardy rays of morning shone, 
Chill unto death the callow grain, and prone 
Upon the meadow lay a hoary pall. 
Ah, come not thus, O Death, as doth the rime 
With fatal shaft in some unguarded hour. 
To smite my day ere it hath reached its 
June. 
Stay, stay thy hand until the hour 

My young and budding mind blooms into 
flower; 
Then come, O Death; thou canst not come 
too soon. 



[64] 



YOUTH AND SPRING 

An azure sky, for Spring is in its May ; 

The blackbird whistles mid the tender green 
Of elm and beechen tree, and bees are seen 
To hover round the apple's blooming spray. 
Alas, too soon will springtime waste away ; 
The bees will swarm; its brood the blackbird 

wean; 
And where the maidens now the violets glean, 
Anon shall reapers mow the tasselled hay. 
O time of blossoming, O season rare. 

Thou symbol of my years, O tell me why 
My youth and thou cannot immortal be? 
To ponder on thy fate is to despair! 

And deeply doth my hapless bosom sigh : 
" O Spring, that I might know but youth 
and thee!" 



[65] 



SAINT HELENA 

A THOUSAND leagues from continental shore, 
The eye that roves across the Atlantic main 
Discerns an island rock, round which in vain 
The tempests rage and tumbling billows roar. 
Its craggy cliffs and barren soil ignore 

The force of Time and Storm, as if the reign 
Of Earth immortal were ; in plaintive strain 
The sea-birds wail as nigh the rock they soar. 
Here came the conquered chief when fortune's 
star 
That shone o'er Austerlitz and Jena's field, 
Had waned and sunk beneath dark Water- 
loo; 
What fate, he mused, did e'er his glory mar? 
Not man, he knew, had taught his spirit yield ; 
They said 'twas God ; alas, perchance 'twas 
true. 



[66] 



THE PLAIN OF WATERLOO 

O'er Belgian plain the peasant guide still leads 

The curious traveller, and points the mound 

Where monument with chiselled art is found 

To mark where warriors died mid glorious deeds. 

Now ripening grain bedecks the flowing meads 

Where once the battle broke; the fertile 

ground 
No trace of wasting war retains ; no sound 
Is heard save a sighing wind amid the reeds. 
And yet for one in meditation bowed 

Again the cannon groans ; again is heard 
The hoarse, intrepid cry : " La garde meurt 
Mais ne se rend jamais "; and still more loud, 
Poured from a thousand throats, their dying 
word 
Of soldier love : " Vive V Empereur! " 



[67] 



TO L. A. T. 

See how the peasant-lad with graceless hand 
Patiently moulds the soft and plastic clay, 
Dreaming of golden times yet far away 
When he the potter's craft will understand. 
And artless elders of the boy demand: 

" Why such design ? " and then attempt to 

stay 
The lad's perverted taste, and think his day 
Were better spent in ploughing meadow land. 
So thou must not despair, but ever strive 
The craved skill to gain, for thus alone 
Can art be wooed, her gentle graces won ; 
Nor heed the murmur of the human hive 

That teems with those who ne'er have known 
That there is aught to till than vale and 
dun. 



[68] 



TO BLISS PERRY 

Great-hearted friend, who from the busy hour 
Deignest to hear mine ill-attuned song; 
Thou critic keen ; the one amidst a throng 
Who never dost to adulation cower, 
But boldly striking with undaunted power, 
Bestowest praise and blame where these be- 
long. 
Though ever prone to learn thy censure 
wrong, — 
Accept, I pray, my musing's humble flower. 
O friend, could there be many such as thee, 
The world would know a minstrelsy that 
thrills, 
Apollo's shrine a worthy sacrifice; 
And fewer pipes would vaunt of poesy. 

And deeper notes from meadows and the hills 
Would waken and be wafted to the skies ! 



[69] 



TRIOLETS 



A TRIAD OF TRIOLETS 



I CAN sing an only song; 

Mary, 'tis in praise of thee ! 
Be its burthen sweetly strong! 
I can sing an only song. 
Should I sing for ages long, 

Yet my strain would ever be : 
I can sing an only song 

Mary, 'tis in praise of thee ! 



[73] 



II 

Maey looked so very sweet, 
Robed in lily-white and pink, 

That my heart unduly beat : 

Mary looked so very sweet. 

For a maiden half as feat 

Eremites would rave, I think; 

Mary looked so very sweet 
Robed in lily-white and pink. 



[74] 



Ill 

Mary took my heart away, 

When we parted yester-eve; 
Triolet, I bid thee say : 
Mary took my heart away, 
Whyfore am I sad to-day? 

Why fore weep I, whyfore grieve? 
Mary took my heart away 
When we parted yester-eve. 



[75] 



IN A LITTLE GREEN BOAT 

In a little green boat, 

Of a day in June, 
O ho, to float 
In a little green boat ! 
And to hear Love's note 

Which thou wilt croon 
In a little green boat 

Of a day in June! 



[76] 



THE REASON 

You wonder why I'm merry ? 

I kissed a pretty girl. 
Her mouth, it seemed a berry ; 
You wonder why I'm merry? 
Could she have been a fairy, 

My head is in a whirl? 
You wonder why I'm merry? 

I kissed a pretty girl. 



[77] 



LOVE, WERE I A SPRITE 

O Love, were I a sprite, 
'Tis this that I would do : 

I'd fly to thee by night, 

Love, were I a sprite. 

And on thy lips alight 

And kiss the long night through ; 

O Love, were I a sprite, 
'Tis this that I would do. 



[78] 



THE BARTER 

A ROSE for a kiss 

Wilt thou barter, Sweet ? 
Fair exchange is this : 
A rose for a kiss. 
'Twere sad to miss 

A chance so meet; 
A rose for a kiss 

Wilt thou barter, Sweet? 



[79] 



THE CHICKADEE 

Sing, little fellow, 
Chick-a-dee-dee ! 

Birches are yellow 

Sing, little fellow! 

Sing us thy mellow, 
Gay-hearted glee; 

Sing, little fellow, 
Chick-a-dee-dee ! 



[80] 



GOOD-MORROW 

Good-morrow, Love, good-morrow! 

Kisses do I bring! 
Now your lips I'll borrow: 
Good-morrow, Love, good-morrow ! 
Night's the time to sorrow, 

Mom for me to sing: 
Good-morrow, Love, good-morrow! 

Kisses do I bring! 



[81] 



GOOD-NIGHT 

GooivNiGHT, Love, good-night! 

This the song I send thee. 
Hear its numbers light : 
Good-night, Love, good-night. 
Till the east is bright, 

Slumber soft attend thee ! 
Good-night, Love, good-night: 

This the song I send thee. 



[88] 



TO A CHICK- A-DEE 

(Which had lost its tail) 

You'ee so very, very funny, 

Little Mister Bob ! 
With a tail like that of Bunny, 
You're so very, very funny ! 
But your heart is always sunny, 

And you're always on the job; 
You're so very, very funny. 

Little Mister Bob. 



[83] 



FIVE YEARS OLD 

Sweet five years old, 
Would / were five ! 

Little heart of gold ; 

Sweet five years old. 

Mine's worn and cold, 
W ith five times five ; 

Sweet five 3^ears old, 
Would / were five ! 



[84] 



THE GREETING 

With a hug and a kiss 
And a tra-la-la ! 

I'll greet thee, Miss, 

With a hug and a kiss. 

How different 'tis 
To leave thee, ah ! 

With a hug and a kiss, 
And a tra-la-la. 



[85] 



AVE CARNEVALE! 

The carnival's come, 
O my sweet Mary! 
Let us strike up and drum 
The carnival's come ! " 
Who could ever be glum 
With you, my fairy? 
The carnival's come, 
O my sweet Mary ! 



[86] 



ADDIO AL CARNEVALE 



The carnival's done, 
O my sweet Girlie ! 

How fast weeks run ! 

The carnival's done. 

And how hard after fun 
Not to feel too surly ; 

The carnival's done, 
O my sweet Girlie ! 



[8T] 



II 

The carnival's over, 
Mary dear ! 

Time's such a rover; 

The carnival's over. 

But it had its clover, 
Now for ivy seer ; 

The carnival's over, 
O Mary dear! 



[88] 



RONDEAUX 



MY SPIRIT SAITH 

My spirit saith : " Ah, could I be 
Of flesh and earth and senses free, 
To starry heights I then could soar, 
Forget the world forevermore, 
And know myself a deity. 

" The heavenly spheres would sing ta me 
Their deep and awful melody ; 

All meaner sounds would I ignore," 
My spirit saith. 

" But vain the wish ! My bended knee 
Must yet endure its slavery; 

And though my hand is bruised and sore 
With knocking at my prison door, 
The senses will not yield the key," 
My spirit saith. 



[91] 



MY BESTEST BOY 

" My bestest boy ! " O silvery tongue, 
Nor glen nor grove has ever rung 
At even with so sweet a note 
From Philomela's golden throat, 
Nor woodlands where the thrushes sung. 

For, this bosom wild and young, 
The wildest, wild, wild hearts among, 
Is ravished when it hears thee quote: 
" My bestest boy." 

But when life's pendulum has swung 
Till age's bead of years is strung, 
Till round my brow and temples float 
Grey locks, — how often. Love, I dote. 
If in thy heart will still have clung: 
" My bestest boy ! " 



[92] 



O NEVERMORE 

O NEVEEMORE Can summcr skies 
Restore the rose that wilted lies, 
The blushes of the rip'ning fruit, 
The pipings of the river-coot, 
The drone of bees, the butterflies! 

And where the yellowing aspen sighs. 
His oft-repeated melodies 

The linnet will return to flute, 
O nevermore ! 

But Love, whose ardor never dies. 
Will tune and pluck his silver lute ; 
Yet in the aging heart and mute. 
Whence yearning moans no longer rise, 
His song will waken ecstasies, 
O nevermore! 



[93] 



COME, LOVE, COME 

Come, Love, come ! A breath of Spring 
Is in the air! A bluebird's wing 
Flashes across the sky ; the rose 
Is budding ; fast the brooklet flows ; 
Voluptuous doves are coo-coo-ing. 

The branches of the orchard swing 
A lonely robin who doth fling 

His note to every wind that blows : 
" Come, Love, come ! " 

O Springtime, hasten thou and bring 
My rosy-lipped and blue-eyed thing! 
Tell her what perchance she knows, 
That as the lovely season grows, 
With madder strain my spirits sing: 
" Come, Love, come I " 



[94] 



TRIFLES 



BY NIGHT 

The happy moon smiled down and said; 
Why sad? " But, ah, could she have read 

The yearning of my breast, — 

The love and deep unrest, 
The oft repeated sigh for thee, 
The prayer, the moan, the cry for thee ; 

No smile had been her lip to grace. 

She would have worn a sadder face. 



[97] 



LINES 

'Tis sunset's hour; the splendor of departing 

day 
The world enfolds; beneath the arched way 
The placid river Charles in silence flows ; 
With gold and red its tranquil surface glows. 
Far to the east a massive purple cloud 
Sails the heavens' blue; though lone, yet proud 
To be monarch of illimitable skies; 
And there beneath its passing shadow lies 
The great metropolis; a human hive 
Where men to serve their gods in conflict strive. 



[98] 



NERO'S DYING WORDS 

When wicked Nero saw that he 

Could not from his pursuers flee, 

He bade his servant hold his sword 

For him to run upon, then turned him toward 

His former realm, and sobbed, " O Rome, I sigh 

That thou shouldst lose so great a bard as I." 



[99] 



A POET'S CONSTANCY 
SONG 

I 

Ye ask if I be constant, 
Constant in my love ; 

Alas ! alas ! Ye sceptics, 
What are ye dreaming of? 

II 

'Tis this mine only answer: 
" Nor men, nor gods above, 

Plave ever been as I have 
So constantly in love." 

Ill 

To-day I love my Lucy, 
And yesterday 'twas Nan, 

To-morrow 'twill be Julia, 
Or Ruth, or Mary-Ann ! 



[100] 



THREE LIMERICKS 

I 

There was a young man of Ark 
Who said : " I'm still in the dark ; 

But if ever I marry, 

'Twill be with a fairy, 
A seraph, or Else-a-Clark ! " 



[101] 



II 

There was a fellow of Sorrill, 
Who thought of women and war ill ; 

" If ever I wed, 

I hope," he said, 
« To dwell by Abbey-Morrill ! " 



[10»] 



Ill 

Theee was a poet of Bonnor, 
Who swore ; " Upon my honor ! 

I never would mate 

With any fate, 
But, O, rd Mary O'Connor!" 



[lOS] 



TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE 



ASTERIE 
(Ode VII, Book III) 



Why weepest thou for Gyges, Asterie, 
The youth of steadfast faith, whom back to thee 
The Zephyrs fair in early Spring, 
Enriched with Orient wealth, will bring. 

II 

Impelled to Oricum by southern wind 
When the raving Goat had left the East behind, 
Now cold he lies, mid floods of tears. 
Through sleepless nights of anxious fears. 

Ill 

His yearning hostess' agent now essays 
With craft to tempt him in a thousand ways, 
And says that Chloe sighs, that she 
Bums with the flame that wasteth thee, 

IV 

And shows how once a faithless woman prest 
The weakling Proetus, through her charges 

drest 
With falsehood's guise, to hasten on 
The death of chaste Bellerophon. 



[107] 



Then tells of temperate Peleus' jeopardy 
Who fled Magnesia's fair Hippolyte; 
And falsely to excuse the sin, 
Shows where in story such has been. 



VI 



In vain; thy constant lover turns away 
More deaf than rocks within Icarian bay. 
Of thine own neighbor's charms beware! 
Enipeus may prove too fair; 



YII 

For none of equal skill to wheel the steed 
Doth e'er appear upon the Martian mead, 
Nor one with equal speed to glide 
In swimming down the Tuscan tide. 

VIII 

At twilight's hour secure thy house; nor heed 
From streets below the sound of doleful reed; 
Though he of cruelty complain, 
Do thou inflexible remain. 



[108] 



TO POSTUMUS 

(Ode XIV, Book II) 
I 

O PosTUMUs, my Postumus, alas, 
No piety, mid years that fleeting pass, 
Can wrinkles and old age delay, 
And death with its overwhelming sway. 

II 

Nor Pluto, hard of heart, can you allay 
By sacrificing bulls each passing day. 
Who vilest Geryon doth enslave 
With Tityus by the doleful wave; 

III 

The doleful wave which we must journey o'er, 
We who consume the earth's abundant store ; 
Nor boots it whether kings we be 
Or men who know but poverty. 

IV 

In vain from cruel war shall we emerge 
And from the wailing Adriatic surge; 
Through Autumn shall we fear in vain 
The south wind, breathing woeful bane. 



[109] 



Cocytus, flowing sluggishly and dark, 
And Danaid's odious children must we mark; 
And Sisyphus must we behold 
Doomed to toil for years untold. 

VI 

You must forsake your pleasing wife, your 

land 
And home; of trees now nurtured by your 

hand 
Not one will follow you, their lord. 
Except the cypresses abhorred. 

VII 

And then an heir more worthy will consume 
Your Csecuban, now sealed as in a tomb, 
With nobler wine the pavement stain 
Than one at pontiff feast may drain. 



[110] 



TRANSLATIONS FROM LORENZO 
DE' MEDICI 



VANITY OF VANITIES 

How all our hopes are futile and in vain, 
How fail the plans of which we idly dream, 
And how the world in ignorance doth teem, 

'Tis Death, the king of all, that maketh plain. 

One lives in song and in the joust's domain; 
Another doth his life for virtue deem; 
One scorns the world and things that worldly 
seem; 

Another hides what in his heart has lain. 

Vain cares and futile thoughts, the diverse fates 
That Nature in a varied aspect gives, 
Are seen forever on the changing earth. 

For all is fleeting here, a moment lives ; 
How fickle Fortune is, how void of worth ! 
Alone doth Death abide ; he ever waits. 



[113] 



II 

HAIL VENUS 

FoESAKE thine isle, thine isle of pleasure rare ; 
Thy realm forsake all beautiful and still, 
Cyprian goddess ; come beside the rill 

That bathes the green and tender grasses there ; 

Come to the shady nook and cooling air 

That doth a murm'ring in the brook instil, 
To music of the bird's enamored thrill. 

O make thine own abode this region fair! 

And if thou com'st amid these waters clear, 
Take thou thy cherished son for company, 
For here his might is never reckoned of; 

Bring thou the virgin nymphs of Dian here. 
Who wander now from every danger free, 
And little heed the potency of love. 



[114] 



Ill 

FIRST SIGHT OF HIS LADY 

Oft I recall, for ne'er the time can be 
When from my memory will glide away 
Remembrance of her gown, the hour, and day 
When first I gazed upon her fixedly. 
And, Love, what then she seemed is known to 
thee. 
Who in her company didst ever stay ; 
How beautiful she was, how sweet and gay, 
I cannot tell, nor think sufficiently. 
When o'er the high and snowy-crested peak 
Apollo spreads his glorious golden beam. 
So fell about her gown each silky braid. 
Of neither time nor place I care to speak ; 
'Tis ever day where such a sun doth gleam. 
And paradise where dwells so fair a maid. 



[115] 



IV 

BACCHUS AND ARIADNE 



Youth is so delightful, O, 

Though forever on the wing! 
Who wants pleasure, let him take it! 

Of the morrow naught we know. 

II 

Bacchus comes with Ariadne; 

Lovely both, and in Love's tether; 
Since time flies and mocks us sadly, 

They forever cling together. 

And these nymphs in every weather 
Merry make: they'll ne'er forsake it. 
Who wants pleasure, let him take it ; 

Of the morrow naught we know! 

Ill 

Here the little satyrs come; 

Smitten are they with the nymphs. 
In the woods and caverns dumb 

They have watched to catch a glimpse. 

Drunken now, the little imps 
Dance and leap: they'll ne'er forsake it. 
Who wants pleasure, let him take it; 

Of the morrow naught we know. 



[116] 



IV 

But the nymphs are rather wary, 
Lest the satyrs prove deceiving; 

Yet, since none to Love are chary 
Save the ugly and the thieving. 
All together interweaving, 

They carouse: they'll ne'er forsake it. 

Who wants pleasure, let him take it ; 
Of the morrow naught we know. 



Then this load that's coming after 

Is Silenus on an ass; 
Old and drunk and brimming laughter, 

Plump with flesh and years, alas ; 

Though he cannot stand, he'll pass. 
For he's merry, — won't forsake it : 
Who wants pleasure, let him take it; 

Of the morrow naught we know. 

VI 

Then steps Midas into measure; 

What he touches turns to gold. 
But what boots the having treasure 

If it leaves the bosom cold? 

What delight can people hold 
Who've such thirst and ne'er forsake it? 
Who wants pleasure, let him take it ; 

Of the morrow naught we know. 



[117] 



VII 

All ye, open wide your ears : 

Do not heed to-morrow's call! 
Let the youth and those of years, — 

Women, men, — be happy all ! 

Each sad feeling, let it fall! 
Let's make merry, ne'er forsake it! 
Who wants pleasure, let him take it ; 

Of the morrow naught we know. 

VIII 

Maids and all ye lovers gay, 

Long live Bacchus, long live Love! 
Play ye, sing, and dance away! 

Let the heart with ardor bum ! 

Toil and grief forever spurn! 
What must be, why, let's forsake it! 
Who wants pleasure, let him take it; 

Of the morrow naught we know. 

Youth is so delightful, O, 
Though forever on the wing! 



[118] 



CHORUS FROM POLIZIANO'S 
" ORFEO " 



THE BACCHANALS 



Bacchus, let each follow thee! 

Bacchus, Bacchus, hejo ! heigho ! 

Who would tipple, who would drink, 
Come and tipple, come up, do ! 

Let it as in funnels sink! 
I will come and tipple too. 
Here is wine enough for you; 
First, though, give a drink to me! 

II 

Bacchus, let each follow thee! 

I've already drained my cup. 
Give that flagon here a bit! 

O this mountain's rolling up. 
And I seem to lose my wit ! 
Here and there the others flit; 
That's the way, too, they see me! 

Ill 

Bacchus, let each follow thee! 

I'm already dead with sleep. 
Am I drunken, yes or no? 

Standing, I can't longer keep. 
You are drunken, too, I know. 
Each one do as I do, so: 
Each one suck it down like me ! 

[121] 



IV 

Bacchus, let each follow thee! 

Each one cry out, " Bacchus, Bacchus ! " 
Each one pouring down the brew! 

Then we'll sing until it rack us. 
Tipple, you, and you, and you! 
With the dancing I am through. 

Each one cry out, " Heyo, heigho ! " 
Bacchus, let each follow you. 

Bacchus, Bacchus, heyo, heigho! 



[l^a] 



EPILOGUE 



LOVE 

Let barren hearts and hoary age deride, 

And scornful mock thee as the toy of youth. 
What else expect of wilted souls? Forsooth, 

They knew thee not ; and when the passion died 

Within their bosoms vile, they loudly cried: 
" 'Tis not in Love that we may hope for truth, 
His altars teem with sacrifice uncouth." 

Alas, to think that Lust is Love beside ! 

O Love, in all this world, this darkling maze. 
Where men from god to god confused turn, 
'Tis thou alone a ray of hope dost give; 

And so my tongue will sing in grateful praise; 

Within thy shrine my incense constant bum ; 

And with my dying breath I'll bid thee live ! 



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